He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “You’re right, we did make a mistake. I made a mistake.”
His admission added salt to Abby’s wounds. He was sorry they’d made love.
Abby lifted her chin a notch. “I don’t really blame you. I should have left town the minute I found out you didn’t want a wife. I pushed when I should have retreated.”
He planted his hands on his hips. “You’ve got spirit. I admire that about you.”
“Admire. Respect.” Bitterness laced her words.
“Admiration and respect are good foundations.”
She searched his dark, clear eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I will speak to Mrs. Clements about caring for the children.”
“This isn’t just about caring for the children. I want us to build on the respect we have for each other.”
She shook her head sadly. “When I first arrived I thought respect was all I was looking for in a husband. I didn’t want love because it’s too messy and painful. But the other night, my heart opened for the first time in a very long time. For a few brief moments I felt loved.” Unshed tears tightened her throat. “I’ve discovered that I want more from a husband, Mr. Barrington. I want love.”
He tightened and released his fingers. “I don’t know if I have that to give.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I know. You’ve been saying from the start and I didn’t listen. But I am now. I understand you can never love me.”
He lifted his hand to touch her arm, and then let it drop as if he feared touching her. “I still think we could manage well of it if you’re willing, Abby.”
“Manage well.” She scraped a tear off her cheek. “Not the words of endearment I was looking for.”
He swallowed. “I’m not a romantic man, Abby. Words are hard for me.”
She could see that he was struggling and she couldn’t watch this proud man suffer for what he didn’t feel. “It’s okay that you don’t love me, Mr. Barrington. I know you are a fine man. You gave your heart to Elise and there’s nothing else left to give. You don’t have to marry me because of what happened.”
“Many couples do well without love.”
“You are right, but for the last few days I’ve been thinking about my parents. Theirs was a love match. What they had was special. And that’s what I want.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction as if he were trying to pry into her brain and analyze her thoughts. “Tell me about them.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What?”
“Make small talk. Like I said, it’s okay you don’t love me. The other night was my fault as much as yours. Don’t blame yourself.”
His lips flattened in frustration. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to know.”
She stared at him, trying to gauge his emotions. He stared at her with such intensity; she could almost imagine that he was interested. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she started to talk.
“They met when my mother was working on a charity drive for the local parish. She was just out of the schoolroom. Mother didn’t want to be at the church because her father had sent her as punishment. She’d had a tantrum because her last gown hadn’t been made out of silk. Grandfather wanted to teach her humility.”
Her mother had told her this story a hundred times when she was a girl and she never got tired of hearing it. “Father was a young parish assistant, just out of seminary. He, too, was working the clothing drive. He and Mother were assigned to work together.”
She glanced up at Mr. Barrington to see if he was really listening. To her amazement he was staring at her, listening closely. “At first they hated each other. Mother hated missing her parties and she didn’t like the young idealist minister who had grand ideas of opening a mission church for the Indians. But Father was always teasing her, goading her into fights. ‘No one could get under my skin better than Papa,’ she used to say. Soon an attraction sparked and out of that grew love.
“My grandfather didn’t approve of the marriage. In the end my parents eloped.”
“What happened to them?”
“They had fifteen very happy years. They died in a cholera outbreak.”
“That’s when you went to live with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yes.”
“That explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“My first impression of you was wrong. Dressed in that fancy dress of yours, you didn’t look like you knew the business end of a stove.”